Teaching Mona
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Daria has an itch she doesn’t quite know how to scratch. Trent never thought he could teach the brainy D.M. something new. One condition: Tom can never know.  DariaTrentTom
1. Chapter 1

-1Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em, just write about 'em

A/N: Yeah, it's kind of naughty. But isn't that nice?

**Chapter 1 **

Desperate to keep her mind off her troubles, Daria found herself resorting to games of her childhood, ghosts from the days of taking long walks through suburbia to escape her family. Usually her choice distraction lay in books, but once in a while it felt good to just run away.

Run away. That would be nice, wouldn't it, she mused.

Daria found herself counting her booted footsteps as she made her way home, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, stomping on leaves to hear the _crunchy crunch _of her triumph, and benevolently allowing bugs to pass along their way unscathed.

Or maybe it would be nice to be a bug. Bugs didn't have to worry about such things as _rights of passage. _Nothing in nature was so absurd, so complicated. Nothing in nature bothered to dwell on such concepts as losing one's virginity, the appropriate time, and gauging if one felt ready. Nature simply _did. _Constantly geared towards going _forward_, being _life, _it simply knew. Cycles ebbed and flowed without conscientious regard to _when_ or _how_.

Saturday evening. 6:00. Tom's parents would be out of town.

They would have the whole house to themselves.

Jesus, would they _need _the whole house?

Probably not. Probably just Tom's room. On that bed, where she'd sat before so many times reading or writing, while he clacked away at his computer. In three days, the world would never be the same again. A new age was upon them; a world in which innocence had no place.

Rolling her eyes, Daria scolded herself. "You're over dramatizing this, Morgandorfer." This was a perfectly normal step in every young woman's life. In every couple's time together, if they make it long enough. To crave more and more intimacy.

Though the word crave seemed to indicate a certain sense of urgency, a certain acknowledgement of lustful feelings Daria didn't exactly _feel_. Well, at least she didn't _think _she felt. It was difficult at times to get in touch with those pesky feelings she worked so hard to beat down and hide in the dungeon of her fortress.

Alright, so what did she know she felt? There was a tingle. An itch, inspired by she and Tom's lip-locking sessions on the couch. A curiosity about what power she held, to inspire that telling and nearly comical bulge in his khakis. A curiosity of what would come next, if she didn't stop him from sliding her jacket from her shoulders, or his fingers from sliding beneath the hem of her skirt.

And so they'd discussed just that, academically, the way they talked about everything. They'd set a date. A time. It was almost like a planned experiment, in a way. No surprises. No acts of wild random passion. Did that disappoint her? Perhaps vaguely, but then again, it was nice to know what was coming. To have time to prepare.

Daria found herself thinking of Saturday as the date of a battle. Preparing for an onslaught, a siege, and invasion of her body. It wasn't exactly right, she knew, but in a raw sense she couldn't help but feel that way a little. Tom was a gentle man. Caring, and he loved her. But she'd worked so hard to build her walls, and the sexual act of allowing another person inside, so very close in both a physical and mental sense, frightened her.

She surmised that most couples didn't do it this way. She suspected most high school sex was more of a random romp and accident in the back seat of dad's car than a planned event of romantic intimacy. And other couples probably tested the waters a bit more first. Sampled the fruits. She knew there were other ways to share sexual...favors, but they seemed a paltry comparison to the actual act. Whether it was accurate or not, to Daria, they seemed as more of an act of seeking carnal pleasure, as opposed to intimacy. And intimacy was her goal, she told herself.

Wasn't it?

She and Tom were different from other high school couples, she told herself. Special. Their level of maturity would allow for nothing less. Perhaps it was elitist in a way, her way of separating herself from her peon peers, but that was why jumping straight to intercourse seemed the best course to Daria. Conventional sex. It wouldn't just be two kids fooling around in hopes of an empty orgasm, but two like souls joined in hopes of finding some comfort in another in a cold lonely world.

Wouldn't it?

Groaning, Daria kicked a stick, sending it skittering across the street. She feared she was overcomplicating this. Over romanticizing it. She'd read enough realist adult fiction to know everyone's first time is usually a fumbling, dissatisfactory shot in the dark. Well, dissatisfactory mostly for the girl, anyways. Nature's cruel joke on women, it took time to learn how they worked. A woman's most intimate pleasure wasn't a rocket, lit and fired off roaring into space, but a bed of coals, slowly stoked to flame, and returning to smolder and wait to burn again.

Well, she didn't particularly expect to smolder much, or even to burn, with Tom. At least, not the first time. It would take many times. Many learning experiences, probably, to reach something passably good. There was no class one could take on such things, though the comedy of such a situation caused the corner of her mouth to tick. It would be useful, wouldn't it, to be able to acquire this knowledge with some sort of instruction, before one was stuck in the moment with someone one cared about, desperately wanting things to go right but just not having a clue of what to do.

Mostly, she just expected pain, and hopefully mental satisfaction. Her mind was her shelter; she could always find refuge there, when the physical reality of life was just so damn disappointing.

Was it normal to view one's first time with a man with such apprehension? Was she making a terrible mistake? Was she totally lying to herself, and should just wait until college like Jane?

Oh Jane. She needed Jane. Finding she'd come to reach her own house, she decided to keep walking for the Lane residence. It wasn't exactly something she wanted to discuss at a booth in the Pizza King, but she definitely wanted a second opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

-12.

Daria soon found herself at the Lane household, making her way down the walk way she had traversed countless time. It was something of a haven for her; a place to go when all else seemed to be falling apart, or turning just too weird to bear. Not that the Lane house was ever normal...but it was right. Just right.

She knocked on the door, three steady raps of the knuckles upon wood. Enough time passed that Daria debated either leaving, or letting herself in to search for some form of life, when the door cracked open.

"Hey, Daria."

As it had every time since the first time she'd laid eyes on him, Daria's stomach did a little flip flop at the sight of Trent at the door. And her name on her lips? It inspired an infuriating rush of adrenaline to spread through her limbs, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Being with Tom had not quelled this reaction; nothing probably ever would.

"Hey Trent. Is Jane here?"

Trent scratched his hair, of which Daria could never tell if it was sleep tousled, or the way he'd styled it. There probably wasn't a difference. "No. She went out for art supplies. Something about a show deadline."

"Oh." Daria couldn't mask the disappointment in her voice, or on her face. And maybe even a little desperation. "Ok. I'll see you later then, Trent."

She retreated from the front stoop and turned to go. A few steps down the walk and "Daria?" stopped her dead in her tracks. She turned to look over her shoulder, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Is something bothering you?"

With a heavy sigh, she turned around to face him, eyes on the walk. "Is it that obvious?"

Stepping back, Trent opened the door wider in invitation. "You can come in and wait for Janey. She should be back soon."

Somewhat relieved, Daria took Trent up on his invitation.

Two hours passed, and still no Jane. The sunset filled the sky with oranges and pinks, then receded below the horizon, drawing all light with it. Daria waited in her room, contemplated Jane's latest skewed figure painting, read a little, tried writing some Melody Powers, and stared at the ceiling. None of which managed to distract her from the problem at hand, her ensuing consummation of her love with Tom.

The wavering notes of an acoustic guitar drifted in from next door; Trent had apparently not fallen back asleep, but decided to practice instead. She liked listening to him play the acoustic; a softer version of Trent's singing voice rising mournfully above the clear, harmonious notes. She played briefly with the thought/fantasy that he was playing for her, before banishing the thought to the heavily guarded chest within her heart, labeled _Trent: Thoughts to Never be Realized. _It was really quite full by now.

She'd had her reality check, she knew its label to be truthful. Did she regret that? A little.

Only a little?

Mrrr.

Oh, Trent. Trent was older, he'd been through all this, with Monique or some girl before her. Maybe he'd even have some better insight than Jane, being more...experienced, in such things. The very thought of broaching the topic with him caused a hot creeping blush to spread across her skin.

With a sigh, Daria got up from Jane's bed, deciding she would wallow in her troubled thoughts, toss and turn all night, and bring it up with her friend on the walk to school tomorrow. She made to escape down the hall, only to find herself face to face with the object of her blush-inducing musings once again. "You're leaving?"

Daria shrugged, only marginally containing her disappointment. "I'll catch her later."

But she did not move to do so, stuck in her tracks. She and Trent eyed each other quietly, attempting to read the thoughts both kept guarded behind their masks. Daria may have been the grand master of hiding her feelings and banishing them into exile, but Trent wasn't exactly an open book either.

Some may have dismissed it as a lack of depth, or the musician _never _actually waking up from his seemingly perpetual state of napping, but here and there Trent proved that he noticed what went on around him, and could diagnose a situation dead on. Daria remembered the way he'd caught on to she and Tom's attraction, as though it were brazenly displayed openly for all to see. He'd said that guys can always tell when other guys are into a girl. Where perhaps that was true, there was another fact of his perception; Trent knew Daria well enough to read her too.

Trent leaned against the wall, arms crossed nonchalantly. "Maybe I can help you?" Daria seemed troubled to him. Nervous. And where he knew she was still often a little jittery around him, for reasons he was not entirely oblivious to, this was beyond the pale. This was definitely something else.

Daria found herself fighting not to blush. Still, there was that itchy warmth again at the base of her throat, just waiting to explode across the rest of her skin. At least it wasn't hives.

Well, here was her chance. She didn't have to _ask _for his help; he'd offered it openly. She could get some good insight, from an older guy. A more experienced soul, someone who'd probably essentially been in a similar situation before. Well, similar, but on the male side of the river.

But dear God, it was Trent!

_You're such a coward, Morgandorfer._ Why not just take the leap off the cliff, for once? Take a chance. Trent wouldn't make fun of her. Trent wouldn't blanche at the mention of sex. He would do his best to help, as he always did.

Thinking that maybe she was signing her own tombstone, Daria swallowed hard, and backed up for a running start.

"Um...it's about Tom. And I."

Trent raised a sharply arched eyebrow. "Yeah? Did you get into a fight?"

Daria sighed, leaning against the wall, as well. She found it easier to talk when she wasn't looking directly into Trent's smoldering dark eyes, but off at the other wall. "Not exactly, though I can't help but think it may be a pending analogy for what we're about to get ourselves into, soon in the future. We--"

A cough interrupted her, of which Daria recognized to actually be a laugh from Trent. She turned to look at him again, to see a small but sly, knowing smile curled on his lips. "You're ready for the...ah..._next step_, and you're worried."

Daria stood silent for several seconds, stewing in a medley of surprise and embarrassment. How did he do that? Read her like that? Maybe he'd heard a vague conversation between she and Jane before...but she doubted it.

Finally, she spoke. "Yes, I'm worried."

The _sly_ and _knowing_ dissipated from Trent's expression, softening to something Daria didn't exactly recognize on him. Nostalgia? Perhaps.

"That's natural, Daria. Everyone's first time is...scary as hell." He said the last with a self deprecating laugh, that strangely seemed to set Daria less on edge. Trent wasn't always the cooler than ice lead singer of Mystic Spiral. He too was once a lost teenage lover, perhaps even in the very back seat upon which she'd sat many times...she wasn't sure if she was disgusted or amused by the thought. Surprisingly, it seemed, more the latter than the former.

"Yeah...well...we've set a date. And a time. That helps a little, I guess."

Trent raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Whoa, like an appointment?"

An irrepressible sigh compressed Daria's lungs, but seemingly originated from far deeper inside the fortress. "Yeah. Like an appointment. Go for a check up, get a tooth capped, lose your virginity..."

"Is...that what you want? That totally goes against the beauty of the random, you know? The heat of the moment...and all that. Those are part of the fun."

It would be part of the fun. Perhaps part of the problem was that Daria wasn't exactly viewing this whole experience/impending fiasco as fun. Not entirely, anyway. It was almost impossible to.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted sadly. "I mean, this whole thing is...I don't know."

Though Daria didn't think she'd actually presented any definite point, Trent nodded sagely. "There's so much pressure. You want it to go well, but don't know what to expect. And there's no way to really prepare. Porn isn't accurate, and books aren't usually any better."

It was Daria's turn to nod in agreement. That was a great part of her dilemma, wasn't it? The pressure, the lack of experience. The courage to take on something new, and just cross her fingers that it didn't ruin everything she and Tom had built between them. The possibilities for nasty disappointment were endless!

"It would be nice," continued Trent, musing on a tangent, "If there were lessons, that could give you an idea of what you're walking into. Like a teacher or something."

Daria vaguely recalled something she'd read, though truthfully it may have been a Sick Sad World reel. "Some tribes in Africa do that. It is the uncle's and aunt's job to break brides and grooms to be in, so to speak, before the wedding. It's kind of civilized, really. Sparing them the extreme embarrassment or disappointment."

Trent couldn't repress a smile. "Passing on the knowledge. Cool. Like a gift, from someone older and wiser."

They laughed in unison at the thought. It seemed so odd, so unprecedented. So strange. Yet at the same time, it wasn't exactly a bad idea, was it? Their laughter faded into a silence that lasted for several long seconds, charged not with noise or tension but the thoughts behind their eyes, and wondering what the other was thinking. After playing the avoidance dance with her eyes, Daria finally had the courage to meet Trent's gaze. His dark eyes were unintentionally piercing; she was sure he didn't mean to do it, but often she felt he laid her bare with just a look. Take it back, Morgandorfer. This isn't civilized. It's a bad idea. A horrible idea. You'll only get yourself into a horrible mess. She tried to command her legs to move, to run away from the situation's potential to get very strange very fast.

Strange, or interesting, she fought with herself. Oh crap.

If when Daria woke up that morning she'd made a list of things most likely to NEVER happen that day, this definitely would have been at the top. Before she could finally convince her legs to move, Trent approached her, cautiously. He watched her every move, but perhaps it didn't count for much, because she found herself _incapable_ of movement.

Daria watched it come, like a train wreck, unable to look away, unable to move or prevent. As he leaned down towards her, Trent's long musician's fingers slid lightly across her jaw, pulling her ever so slightly into a tantalizing brush of lips. It was hardly anything at all, yet that one little touch sent something akin to a jolt of lightning through both of them.

Trent noted Daria's wide eyed look, and cursed himself mentally for being so brazen with her. Stupid, Lane. Very Stupid. _She's going to tell you to _go to hell _in about two seconds. _She was always so skittish of human contact, especially around him. Did he really think this could possibly be a reality? That she would really let him--

Trent was not able to finish his thought, for much to his amazement and surprise, Daria closed the fraction of an inch between them again, locking their lips in a true kiss. At first it was sweet and light, a game of flirting lips and barely perceptible tongue. But soon it grew into something much more, no longer a game but an exploration, two mouths eager to know the tastes and textures of the other. Seemingly of it's own accord, Trent's arm wrapped around her slender waist, pulling her warmth close as he leaned against the wall. Her lips were so soft, and the moist hollow between them...he felt sure he could lose himself in it for hours and hours.

Shuddering and surprised at their sudden passion, Daria and Trent came up for air, studying each other's reactions. Daria felt herself surrounded by Trent, his arm around her waist, the other arm near her head against the wall. She liked it, didn't she? And Tom never kissed her like that, did he? Still, there was that spark again, that _nagging _itch down low, curiosity of where all this heat could go. _You are not really considering this, Morgandorfer_. It was insanity.

And all the while, Trent was looking at her like he'd never seen her before. He stood quietly, not urging her in one direction or the other, though by the deep rattling breath he drew into his narrow chest, she could tell which direction he was hoping she would lean.

_Alright, _now _she's going to tell you to get the hell off of her, _thought Trent. It had to be what happened next. Because there was no way he could be so lucky. And so Daria's next words struck him to the core:

"Tom can never find out about this."

Surprise and adrenaline coursed through his wiry limbs. The musician tried twice before finding his voice.

"Alright."

**a/n: Feedback is golden, even if you just plain hate it... **


	3. Chapter 3

-13.

Saturday. 6:00. This presented an unforeseen problem, and Daria stared at the phone, rehearsing exactly how to tell Tom about it.

Said unforeseen problem, the wrench in the works, so to speak, lay in the fact that Daria was grounded from going out for a week, excluding school.

How did she get that way?

Thinking back on the reason for her parental punishment, a smile curled the corners of her lips. At least her infraction had been worth the sentence, thrice over. She thought back on her night with Trent for the umpteenth time that day. It seemed nearly surreal, so unlikely, too good to be true.

She remembered the way he'd led her into his room, sat her down on his bed. Knelt before her like a knight with his lady, unlaced her boots, first one, then the other. Long fingers slid over her calves, only a prelude to the pleasure he would soon elicit from her nerves, as though she were an instrument he already knew how to play. "Are you sure about this?" he'd asked, also in something of a state of disbelief.

"Yes." At that point, Daria found herself limited to monosyllables, and articulate speech seemed to only go downhill from there.

Trent needed no more encouragement than that. He'd plied her with kisses, molded her to his will like clay in his hands.

Leaning over her, clad only in his pants, Trent had said between soft, warm kisses upon her neck, "You know, as much as this is about...your education, I wouldn't offer if I didn't already want you. You should know that."

Daria's mouth opened slightly with surprise. Or perhaps it was the effect of Trent's latest ministrations, the light scrape of teeth upon her collarbone. It seemed stupid, being half naked below Trent, clad now in only her skirt and bra, yet his open admission of desire still seemed bold to her. Did she really think she could pretend this was a purely educational experience, sans pleasure or even emotion?

_You're sick, Morgandorffer,_ she'd scolded herself.

"You don't make love out of the goodness of your heart, eh?"

Trent smiled, looking up from his focus upon her skin. What was he doing? Daria hadn't even quite yet graduated from high school. At least she was 18, but still...the truth was, the opportunity had slapped him in the face, and he simply couldn't pass it up. Maybe she hadn't quite lived as long as he had, but her maturity surpassed his own in many ways.

"It is goodness, but a different kind. It's definitely not pity." He ducked back down to plant an open mouthed kiss upon her breastbone, causing her back to arch against him. It was a pity for him, perhaps. Because after this was over and done with, she would walk right back into Tom's arms, probably to never return to his again. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, how he would handle it, but he didn't care to think on it at the moment.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm not exactly a charity case, then," she'd said breathily.

Throughout the foreplay Trent continually reminded himself to be gentle, to go slow. It was Daria's first time; he wanted to be good to her. Good for her. And hopefully when the time came, cause her the least pain he could possibly manage.

How was it that he would be her first? That special one...maybe it should be Tom. Maybe he should stop, tell her she needs to make her mistakes and fumbles with her virgin boyfriend, the way most everyone else does. It's part of learning. Part of life. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe she would regret it. But Daria was a strong girl. He realized this probably meant way more to Daria, with him, than she let on. Even a way of having her cake and eating it too. Exploring physical relationships with both the man she's in love with, and a more forbidden fruit: her best friend's brother, who she'd been curious about all along.

He could have said no, but he really, _really_ didn't want to.

As was inevitable, soon came the awkward moment of truth: complete nudity in front of a lover for the first time. Daria would never forget the sense of wonder in Trent's expression, as he looked upon her unclothed form, almost as though he'd never seen a naked woman before in his life. "You're so beautiful, Daria," he'd told her, fingertips feathering appreciatively across the round of her bare stomach.

Soon after came the main events that had brought them together in the first place. Daria never dreamed of the things Trent could do with his hands, or his mouth. Perhaps he was acting as her teacher, but in a way Daria feared he'd ruined her anyway for Tom. Could her present boyfriend ever be so intuitive as her musician lover? Even with practice... And there was that sense of power Daria found, exotic and new. The power of cupping a man in her hands and hearing him sigh for her, knowing groans and hissing intakes of breath were all caused by her.

Two orgasms later and a cry that made them both glad that Jane still wasn't home, Trent finally eased inside her. Wet as she was, it still managed to feel as though she were being ripped in half. He took her slowly, slowly as possible, hating that he hurt her but obeying her bit-lipped nod to go on. There was pain, sharp and tight, unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. But also there was a knowledge, a victory, that Daria reveled in. She would not be so archaic as to say a woman is made a woman by the touch of a man, and yet in a way it was a large stepping stone towards true adulthood. Hearing her name imbedded in a shuddering groan from Trent's lips, she knew life would never be the same again.

"Stay with me," he'd requested, pulling her close as they collapsed back on the mattress. So she had. Feeling his wiry arms around her, their warm bare skin sliding against each other under the covers, Daria found she really had no motivation to move. And she did not move, until around 3:00 in the morning, when she woke from her doze and realized her parents must be beside themselves with worry, and that phone call they'd so pointedly ignored was probably her mother.

"I have to go," she told Trent, who gazed upon her through a haze of sleep. "This could be the last time you see me alive; my mother just might kill me."

Trent coughed, that raspy laugh causing the corners of Daria's mouth to curl. "Then maybe you shouldn't go."

Daria had leaned down to kiss him goodbye, and those clever fingers winding in her hair, drawing her to him, nearly convinced her to just curl back up under the covers again. He'd smiled at her, slight but genuine, and there was a sorrow in his eyes that saddened Daria. "Good luck Saturday," he'd wished her. Though there seemingly was no malice in Trent's statement, the reminder of the other man in her life was something she could have done without at that moment.

"Um...thanks."

Now that all was said and done, Daria couldn't help but wonder if she'd done a very bad thing. Tom would be heartbroken, and livid, if he knew...but he wasn't going to know. Besides, there was a higher purpose to it, wasn't there? _Oh_ _hell_, _Morgandorffer_... This was infidelity just as sure as it was _education..._was there ever a point in her life when she hadn't wanted Trent? Perhaps at the beginning she'd had no idea what she really wanted to _do _with him...but she had a much better understanding of that now, didn't she?

After another short kiss goodbye she'd slipped out of Trent's room, out into the night to sneak home. Trent watched her go with something of an unexpected pang in his chest, finding he wished he could be a little more than just her _teacher_. Daria was cool for a human being, and as a girl still in high school she was out of sight. He hoped Tom realized what he had, but doubted the kid would until it was too late. Guys were daft like that...himself included.

Daria finally built up the courage to dial up Tom. "Hello?"

"Hey Tom. It's Daria."

"Hi Daria." She could hear the smile in his voice at hearing her own. Oh God, could he but know what she'd done...

"About Saturday night..."

"Yeah?" Ah, there is was. The apprehension. A puppy dog expecting to be kicked at any moment.

"I'm afraid the parental Gods have spoken, and although I escaped sacrifice at the altar, I'm banished from leaving the house for a week."

She could just see those soft brown eyebrows raising with surprise. "A _week_? What did you do?"

"I...stayed out too late at Jane's house, and forgot to call home." The lie rolled off her tongue so easy, with no remorse. Perhaps she was skewed, but she had yet to feel true pangs of guilt.

"Oh." The disappointment in his voice caused a pang deep in Daria's gut. She never wanted to hurt Tom, but she seemed to have such a talent for it.

"So...rain check?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'll call you later." Tom hung up the phone, obviously frustrated, perhaps wondering on some level if she hadn't done this on purpose. Daria was so strange, so chilly at moments. Sometimes he wondered if it was a total fantasy on his part, hoping that someday he might reach a little deeper inside the girl. That she might actually let him in.

But what is love, without lying to yourself at least a little?


	4. Chapter 4

4.

It was Saturday night, and Daria lie prostrate on her bed, staring at the padded walls of her cell. An evening to herself wasn't that bad, was it? As though she were a stranger to solitude...forbidding her from human contact was hardly a punishment. Somehow her mother did not realize that, even after all these years. Once upon a time she would have bitterly written it off to her mother comparing her to Quinn, doling out punishments that would have been more appropriate for the "normal" one of the family. But now Daria realized more or less that her parents were just at a loss for what to do with her. Often the best course of action just seemed to be to leave her alone.

Daria liked that, usually.

This house arrest would have been perfectly fine by her, except for one kink in the works: Daria found herself actually _wanting _to go somewhere. She had an itch to get out, to be with Jane or Tom or even...Trent. Well, it was her itches that seemed to be getting her into trouble lately, perhaps even more than she realized. She would sit. She would read a book, or annihilate aliens on the computer, or write.

But she did not move from the bed.

Her thoughts drifted to Tom. Where was he right now? Possibly at home, but possibly he'd gone out. She imagined him sulking in his room, wishing his girlfriend wasn't so careless, and so grounded. Though Tom didn't exactly seem like one to pine, the thought still amused her.

And then an idea occurred to her. Perhaps not a _good_ idea, but an idea all the same. _No, Morgandorffer. You'll only dig yourself a deeper hole._

Well, only if she got caught.

What did she have to lose?

Mrr.

Tom sat at his desk reading. He'd been in something of a foul mood for the better part of the day, thinking about what he _could _have been doing that evening, and the book he would court instead. He wished Daria could be there. They didn't even have to make love...though that would have been nice, (well, _more _than nice), he found himself more and more just craving to be near the strength of her skin. A light _plink_ against the glass of his window caught his attention, interrupting his thoughts. There it was again. _Plink. Plink. Plack. _

Afraid the rocks would only get bigger and bigger, Tom went to the window before it could be broken. The most unexpected sight met his eyes, standing down in the yard, clad in all black.

It was Daria.

His heart jolted from a sudden influx of adrenaline. Had she snuck out? For _him_? It seemed so unlikely...so unlike _her_. He waved and disappeared from the window, running for the stairs to let her in.

Out of breath, he opened the front door with a wide smile. "Dar¾" Taking him even _more _by surprise, she leaned into him, lulling him into a slow kiss with those soft lips of hers. Cupping the side of her face, he pulled back to search her expression. What was she doing? This was so...spontaneous. Exciting, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was a joke. Her lips curled in that Mona Lisa smile, mysterious and knowing, tinged with sorrow.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked, and there was just a hint of mockery to her words.

With a groan Tom pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them. Something was different about Daria. He always felt as though that gaze of hers could pierce through any armor he attempted to wear; mercilessly evaluating everything with a cynical but cuttingly accurate eye. So what was different? He realized, with a shock, that it was an absence of something, something_ always _present in Daria to some degree. Tonight, she didn't seem quite so _afraid _as she usually was. Of him, of human contact, of life. Most would read her own stony shell as strength, and undoubtedly it was, but it was also forged of fear.

"Um...Do you want to go upstairs?" she asked.

Utterly surprised by her forward approach, Tom raised his eyebrows. Daria felt she enjoyed this new juxtaposed dynamic: for once it wasn't her blanching, but Tom. It was amazing what a little self confidence could do...she said a quiet thank you to Trent, and tried to push him out of her thoughts for now. Easier said than done.

In truth, this new found confidence wasn't so infallible as it seemed. It was just another mask, another shell. _You're_ _becoming_ _versatile_, _Morgandorffer_, she mused. No longer such a one trick pony. There was more than one way to hide a cynic. She wiped her sweaty palms against her skirt, tangible evidence of the nervous butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.

"Uh...if you want to," he answered.

"That's not _exactly_ an answer."

Tom laughed, albeit a bit nervously, running his fingers through the brown mop of hair atop his head. "Yes. _Yes_, I _really _want to go upstairs. Happy?"

She found she enjoyed leading him on, making him beg, even if only a little. It was empowering, and even a power she never dreamed she could possess. In answer Daria kissed him again, and with an arm around her waist, Tom tugged her towards the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

On Saturday night, Trent found himself experiencing something quite rare for him: restlessness. It was a state of unease that generally required more energy than he cared to invest in anything that wasn't a gig. Naturally, he himself was surprised. He'd expected this night to pass like any other. So what if Daria was with Tom tonight? Doing things that he'd rather be the one doing with her, and to her, and for her...

_This_ _is_ _twisted _he grumbled in his head, pushing up from the couch. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be...fun. Just for fun. A favor for Daria, and hey, how could he complain? Problem was, it wasn't just amusing. It was fantastic. And as he thought it, Trent realized he didn't just mean the pleasure, though it was a plus. It was the very act of getting so close to another human being. To _Daria_, of all people. The queen of her fortress, who kept all at bay with those impressively fortified walls at all times. To hear his name on her lips like a prayer was something he never thought he would experience. And now that he had, he found he wanted to do it again.

Therein lay a problem.

Trent wondered what it would be like, the next time they saw each other. They'd agreed to keep it casual, but would it really work out that way? It could. Or it could be painfully awkward. Or simply, just painful.

Trent decided to drop in on Janey, hoping to distract himself. It felt strange to have her home on a Saturday night, but with Daria engaged elsewhere, what else would Jane do but paint?

"Hey Trent," she said as his lanky form filled her doorway. "What's up?"

He shrugged. "Not much. Can't sleep." He crossed the floor to sit on her bed. "What are you doing?"

"You know, the usual madness, mayhem, and defacement."

Trent picked up the book Jane seemed to be copying out of. It was a familiar painting. The Mona Lisa, in a full color plate, smiled out at the viewer with that timeless, haunting curl of mouth, that Trent couldn't help but recognize. "I know her," he said quietly, turning the page to the text caption.

"Yes, well, she's a _very _famous painting," mocked Jane. "You know, by that dude _Leonardo_?"

Trent rolled his eyes, reading the text. "Whoa. Did you know that dude carried this rolled up painting with him everywhere?"

"Until his death," said Jane.

Trent took another long glance at the painting, before handing Jane back the book. "I don't blame him."

Somewhat bewildered, Jane watched Trent cross the room, out the door almost as soon as he'd entered. Shaking her head, she went back to her painting, copying _La_ _Giaconda_ to her canvas. Who knew how the poor woman would fare, at the mercy of Jane Lane's artistic whimsy?

Soon, stray notes from Trent's acoustic guitar drifted in from next door. Something had obviously inspired him.

**OOOOOO**

Inspiration had gotten under Trent's skin, and had not yet left three days later. He worked and worked on his new creation, filling out lyrics and chorus and harmony until eventually, a whole song emerged. And much to Jane's chagrin, he played it over and over again. She didn't know all the lyrics, she could never quite make them out through the door. But bits and pieces were branded upon her brain. Helplessly she found herself singing softly, "Mona, Mona, Oh how I have known you," and humming the rest.

"What are you singing?" asked Daria.

"New future Mystik Spiral material. For now Trent's just been roughing it out on the acoustic...you'd think the kid can't play anything else, he's been going at it so religiously."

"Mona?"

"The Mona Lisa, I guess. He was acting so weird Saturday. Like he was restless, or something. Pacing around the house, in and out of my room. Saw a picture of the Mona Lisa in one of my art books and instantly dashed off to write that damned song."

Daria raised an eyebrow, that damned blush threatening to make itself known just below her collar, though there was no exact reason for it. "So, he's suddenly acquired an appreciation for 16th century Italian Renaissance painting?"

"Fuck if I know. Speaking of Saturday..." Jane leered at Daria. "How did _it _go?"

Now the blush rushed in, invading Daria's face and leaving no territory unconquered. "Fine," she mumbled.

"Just fine?"

Daria smiled slightly. "It was nice." And it had been. Painful, yes, though not as much as the first time. Nor as...physically satisfying, but that wasn't the point, right? She knew Tom had not only enjoyed himself, but also, perhaps even more so, seemed to appreciate the gesture of trust she offered him. Such a thing seemed far and few between, coming from her.

The realization made her a bit sad, yet she knew not how to change it, without changing herself drastically. And that, she owed to no one.

"It'll get better," said Jane, as though she were a great expert. "Give it a couple weeks; you'll be experiencing soul-shattering orgasms in no time."

Daria couldn't help but wince at Jane's enthusiasm, and nearly dropped a quip about her brother doing just that as revenge. But that would have raised questions, far too many questions, that Daria just _did not _want to contemplate at that moment, much less discuss with Jane.

In fact, keeping the whole affair with her brother under wraps would have just suited Daria right down to her boots. Though she and Jane had managed to patch their friendship, Daria couldn't help but think that sleeping with Jane's brother whilst she was still dating the man Daria stole from her would strain things between them again. She did not want to deceive Jane, but at least for the time, she felt her hands were tied. How did _she_, Daria Morgandorffer, of all people, get herself into these strange soap-operaesque situations?

Well, she never liked to do things the way everyone else did. That was what she got for not being a joiner.

Or something.

"Want to come over after school?" asked Jane.

Daria's stomach flip flopped, this time in a nauseas manner. "I can't today. Homework...paper...I can after Wednesday." More lies. Daria found lies did not bother her with most people, even Tom, but she hated lying to Jane.

Sensing something was up, but not exactly sure how to call her on it, Jane quirked an eyebrow but let it go. "Alright. Sick Sad World Friday, then. Spend the night, we'll have a pizza extravaganza."

"Deal."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Friday could not have come soon enough for Daria. She found she craved to be free of her house, and her family. There is no cage so unpleasant as one that is unjustly imposed. So naturally, she found it relieving to be at Casa Lane for some good quality Sick Sad World time with her amiga. And naturally, pizza only sweetened the deal.

It was late at night, listening to Jane's husky snoring which usually soothed her, that Daria found she could not sleep. She rolled this way and that in her sleeping bag beside Jane's bed, wishing Orpheus would just bash her with the lyre and skip the lulling. After more than an hour of unsuccessful sleep, Daria freed herself from her cocoon, and headed downstairs for a late night snack. Though the Lane kitchen was not exactly known as a land of bountiful game, perhaps there would be some left over pizza.

Rifling through the kitchen by moonlight, Daria resisted the urge to make like the roaches and run when the kitchen light flipped on. Squinting through the blindingly bright light, Daria made out a tall lanky figure in the doorway, clad only in jeans. It certainly wasn't Jane.

This impromptu late night rendezvous left Trent and Daria to utter the entirely suave greetings of "Hi," and "Hey".

Seeing Daria standing there in his kitchen sent something of a jolt through Trent; something he'd never really felt around her before. He realized, much to his surprise, that he was a little nervous. Is that how she used to feel around him, all the time?

Nervous or not, Trent also felt the urge to cross the floor, press his lips to Daria's and not relent until they'd stumbled up the stairs to his room and locked the door.

"Uh...what are you doing down here in the dark?"

Daria glanced around, as though the answer were written somewhere on one of the walls. "In search of the pizza leftovers, though the expedition has proved fruitless thus far."

"There's pizza?"

"Only the worthy shall find that which is sought..."

Raising an eyebrow, Trent gave an amused smile, walking over to the refrigerator. Three in the morning, and Daria still retained that sense of humor.

Knowing he would find it empty, for she'd already checked, Daria watched Trent try the fridge. She enjoyed watching Trent, watching the way he moved. That wiry torso and long limbs, tattoos across his arms, glittering earrings and tousled hair the color of a raven's wing, and so much more, all fascinated her in a way she couldn't quite describe. She never found herself admiring Tom in quite the same way.

Disappointed, Trent straightened from searching the refrigerator, and tried the freezer. The instant smile upon his face told Daria he'd struck pay dirt, long before he extracted the box and opened it to reveal the two last slices of pepperoni pie. "Split it?" he suggested, eyebrows raised.

"Sure."

Whilst they waited for the microwave to work its magic, Trent crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "So...how was Saturday?" he asked with a small smile. Not exactly the master of tact, it was foremost on his mind. Besides, it wasn't exactly as though he and Daria had anything to be shy about, at that point.

"It was ok," Daria found herself saying, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Trent cocked his head inquisitively, as though that wasn't exactly what he'd expected to hear. "Just ok?"

"You know. Painful, fumbly, yet unexpectedly sweet."

Trent digested this account of Daria's time with another man, keeping the façade of a blank expression while the heat of jealousy curled ever so slightly in the pit of his stomach. Looking up, Trent found himself under the evaluative gaze of Daria's lively brown eyes. A question was burning there, he could tell, though with Daria one never knew if she would get up the courage to ask.

"You can ask me anything, Daria," he encouraged, wanting anything he could get, just to know a little better what was on her mind.

For a moment Daria's eyes widened with surprise, yet again taken unawares by how well Trent seemed to know her. It seemed to be her thing lately, to take leaping bounds into unfamiliar territory. So she backed up for yet another running start, asking, "Do you feel like I used you?"

It was Trent's turn to seem surprised, as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I guess I could ask you the same question," he evaded, dark eyes set upon her. Was that as good as a yes, she wondered? As far as she could tell, it added up to a big fat maybe.

Daria shrugged, feeling as though she were being stripped down to nothing by that piercing gaze. "I enjoyed myself."

"I guess that's better than _ok._" Daria adjusted her glasses nervously. He knew damn well it was better than _ok_. What did he want from her? "Are you having regrets?"

"I'm not, actually, which kind of makes me feel like I'm a sociopath..."

Trent laughed; it was no sound of joy, but short, harsh, and bitter. "Then you are having regrets."

"But only of not having regrets. Is that twisted enough to make sense?"

At that moment the microwave emitted an obnoxious _beep, _announcing pizza was ready to consume. Absently Trent reached out to shush it with the press of a button. Eyes all for Daria, he pushed away from the counter, finding himself moving to stand before her. "It sounds like you're not sure," he said, one slender digit reaching up to trace a feather-light line down her jaw and neck.

"Probably not," agreed Daria, tilting her head back. Hardly more than a week ago, she would have bolted for the door if Trent had touched her in such a way; now, she found herself incapable of any movement that wouldn't bring her closer to him.

Hungrily, Trent watched her response to his touch, fascinated by her skin. What was it about this girl, that drew him in? She was still in high school, and she was a brain...that alone should have been enough to scare him away. But labels are usually more misleading than truly descriptive. The truth of the matter, best he could tell, was that she was simply, or complexly, _Daria_. He knew he wanted to be apart of her some way, whether or not he really should.

"There's only one way to be sure," he found himself saying.

Quickly losing capability for complex sentences under the spell of Trent's touch, Daria asked, "Which is?"

"Try it again."

Daria drew a deep breath. She'd intended to inhale fresh air, but only succeeded in further engulfing herself in the scent of Trent's skin. Tentatively, as though she were still afraid Trent didn't want her, she reached up to slide fingers across his chest, tracing the bony outline of his collarbone. Why did he let her touch him, when he could have had someone seemingly better suited to his type? Someone like Monique? Someone not so skittish, so skewed, so...virginal. Maybe technically he'd taken care of that, but she still couldn't help but feel the term still applied.

It drew a sigh from Trent's lips; this new found desire surprised him; it took him aback, how very much he wanted her to want him. Maybe he was the elder, supposedly wiser, but in truth, in a way, he did look up to her. He hoped she would size him up with those quick cocoa eyes, and tell him he was worth _something. _

Trent ducked down to brush lips against Daria's neck and ear, lightly taking the lobe between his teeth. The shudder that wracked her frame took Daria by surprise, causing her knees to tremble. "And if we do?" she asked, unable to achieve a volume any greater than a sigh.

"Same as last time," breathed Trent huskily into her ear. "Tom doesn't have to know."

_There's a special circle of hell for this_, thought Daria, whilst melting into Trent's arms, plied more than willingly by warm moist kisses. _Just for us_. Paolo and Francesca would be waiting to keep them company, because Daria found, with a mental apology to Tom, that she just hadn't the will to say no to something that felt so right.

_I know you're not mine_, mused Trent between kisses, back arching as Daria's nails caressed his spine. _I know all this is stolen. Stolen kisses, stolen time_. But he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, if she could kiss him like that, then perhaps he the thief should be crowned king at her side.


	7. Chapter 7

-1.

**Chapter 7**

It was a balmy night in Lawndale, the muggy air only occasionally relieved by a whispering but undependable breeze. In something of a contemplative mood, Trent walked the streets, thinking to visit _McMally's Music _while he was at it for a pack of guitar strings. Looking through the window of Pizza King, a sight met his eyes that triggered something of a painful pang, deep in his chest.

There sat Daria and Tom, sharing a pizza pie, probably talking about super-intelligent things, like how best to go about saving the world. Or, perhaps more likely, knowing those two, how the world was going to end. Either way, it was a conversation he and Daria would probably never have. He and Daria never seemed to talk much, in their repeated rendezvous in his room. Their relationship was of more of a physical nature. Lustful. Carnal. But even though the thought of his last encounter with Daria made him groan softly to himself, it wasn't as though he _wouldn't _have liked to hear what was on Daria's mind.

It just never seemed to turn out that way. The moment they set foot into his room she would touch him with those cool slender fingers, and he would completely be undone. What followed would pull sighs and moans from those soft lips, but never explanations of the many thoughts quickly flitting behind evaluative eyes. Trent found that even though it was perhaps his touch that shook her world, he envied Tom that particular intimacy.

Trent envied those conversations, whether mundane as the weather or intellectual as existentialism. He envied the all the little things people dating do together outside of sex, like going to a movie, eating a pizza, taking a walk. Being seen in public together. It was the thought of all these things people do when they're in love that caused such an ache deep inside; because somewhere along the line, Trent knew he had fallen in love with Daria.

Not that he could really complain about what he had with her. What she trusted him with. The most age-old of intimacies, the knowledge of every curve of her body. She was so soft, so sweet, and the way those lips parted with a sigh as his fingers slid across her skin...It was a gift, he knew, to be trusted in such a way by Daria. Yet after so many nights with her, so many glorious nights, he couldn't help but wish for more.

But he was her dirty secret in the closet. Her lover on the sly. Maybe if he were a stronger person, he would have come clean with Daria. Asked for more. Asked for a decision: _him or me. _Why didn't he? Perhaps he didn't because he felt fairly certain he would end up on the losing end...Tom was her type. Intelligent. College bound. About to change the world, in one way or another. Trent decided he would take what he could get, just to be close to her warmth, her strength, just a little bit longer. Soon she _and _Janey would be leaving for college, and he would be left all alone.

He'd always told himself it was ok to do what he was doing, to still be living in his parent's house, because _someone_ had to be there for Janey. Maybe the closer truth was that they raised each other, but still. He _was _her big brother. He had to do right by her. But now Jane had graduated. It was June...she would be leaving in August, off to new adventures with Daria. Both of his girls were leaving him.

The thought made him groan again, for an entirely different reason. What would he do? The band could go somewhere...if they could just get their shit together. Meaning him too. Getting to practice on time. Writing new songs, better songs. They had to grow...it was funny, how just being with Daria inspired a desire to do better in Trent. A desire to actually _try_. It was so easy before to sleep until 2:00, go to band practice hours late, maybe play a gig, hook up with Monique, and do it all over again the next day. Where did all those days go? He was 22 years old...and suddenly painfully aware that he had nothing to show for it.

It wasn't simply a desire to impress Daria, knowing deep down he wasn't good enough for a girl like her, but a new, almost alien need, to move forward. To find something new, something better. Did he really want to stay in Lawndale forever? Of course not. He'd had fantasies before, of some agent swooping down, gaga for Spiral's sound and demanding to fly them out to L.A. for a signing deal. It had been his plan for a while. His fantasy, and in a way he'd convinced himself that it was bound to happen any time now. Every day, every gig, any time now.

A little bit older, a little bit wiser, and Trent knew that without more effort on Mystic's part, they hadn't a chance in hell.

**OOOOOO**

Tom watched Daria from across the table at Pizza King, something of a sick apprehension clenching in his stomach. It could never be said that she was a bubbly girl (Quinn had taken ALL of the genes for that), but tonight she seemed even more morose than usual.

Life with Daria had taken an unexpected turn for the sweet, since the first night they'd made love. He'd noticed a change in her, every time they touched. She'd gained more confidence, seemed more sure of herself, seemed less afraid of him. Somewhere she'd found the courage and creativity to try some things even _his _wandering mind wouldn't have come up with...he even couldn't help but wonder _where _she herself had gotten the idea. Had she been anyone else, he maybe would have suspected her of cheating...

"What's wrong, Daria?" he asked, reaching across the table to take her hand. She hadn't touched the pepperoni slice on the plate in front of her, but had surely memorized its pizza-intricacies thoroughly, for the time she spent staring down at it.

She squeezed his hand, a grim smile ghosting across her mouth. That mouth he loved to kiss...by the look in her eyes, he had a sudden fear he would not be engaging in that beloved pastime in the near future.

Mournfully, unable to look him in the eye, Daria said, "I've been thinking about the future. We've graduated now, and are going to college at different universities..."

Tom swallowed hard, knowing he'd heard the death knell of their love ringing somewhere in the air between them.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

**OOOOOO**

Her knock going unanswered, Daria followed the usual protocol of the Lane household, simply just letting herself in. "Hello?" No answer, no lights, and heavy slanted shadows cut across the walls of the living room, signaling the coming dusk. She continued her search, traipsing up the stairs, to find Trent's door cracked. The sound of his acoustic floated through, signaling his presence in the house, even if he drifted in his own musical imagination.

Sneaking past, in search of Jane, Daria pushed open the next door, only to find the room vacant. _Damn, _she thought. How did Jane always manage to be absent when she was experiencing _crises_ _de_ _Tom_? Well, perhaps it was for the better. After all, the circumstances of she and Tom's union didn't exactly lend to awkward-free discussion with Jane. Shuffling her feet, kicking at a dried piece of paint stuck in the carpet, Daria contemplated going home. It was either that, or...

She listened to the notes floating through the walls. Was it fair to go to Trent, at this point? Well, even if she gleaned no consolation, he at least deserved to know what she'd done. In a way, he was involved, after all. She went to his door, readying to knock softly, when he switched to a new song. The notes poured from his guitar, melodic and mournful, freezing her in her tracks. Feeling something like a voyeur, but too curious to stop herself, she listened in. Trent's voice rose over the music, singing out:

_Mona, Mona!_

_Oh how I have known you._

_Never so naïve,_

_As to think I could own you._

_I just want to be by_

_The strength of your skin,_

_Again and again, babe,_

_Again and again. _

_Can I be your Leo?_

_Carry you with me_

_Until the day I die?_

_Here in this room,_

_With you, dear Mona,_

_Time falls away_

_All else is a lie._

_Mona, Mona!_

_You hide on the wall._

_Lips curled, so eternal, _

_So sage, so sorrowful._

_Let me lay you down beside me,_

_Let me dry all your tears,_

_Tell me your hopes, babe_

_Tell me your fears._

_Can I be your Leo?_

_Carry you with me_

_Until the day I die?_

_Our time here_

_Isn't mine, dear Mona_

_When night falls away_

_I fear we're a lie_

_Our time here_

_Isn't mine dear_

_I fear we're a lie_

_I fear we're a lie_

A lump formed in Daria's throat, that felt suspiciously like the beginnings of a sob. That was the Mona song, that Jane had been talking about. That Trent had been practicing so religiously, for months now. Well, he certainly had it down...Daria was no fool. She knew damn well who that song was about, and it wasn't the kind of song an artist would write for a weekend amusement. A lover in the strictest sense of the word...that was the kind of song a musician wrote for a woman who meant decidedly more to him. Much more.

Trent had begun to play another song, but the playing cut short after Daria accidentally released a cry. Covering her mouth in horror, she watched the door, contemplating making a run for it. Would she have time to jet down the stairs and out the door before Trent came to investigate? If she could just make it, he would never know she was here.

At the moment she tensed to sprint, Trent foiled her plans, peering out of his room. His eyes widened a bit at seeing Daria standing just outside his door. "Hey, Daria," he said, clearly wondering what she was doing lurking in the shadows. _Smooth, Morgandorffer._

"Ah...hey, Trent. I was just looking for Jane, but she's not here, so I guess I'll go. Sorry to interrupt your playing..." Daria spoke quickly, backing away all the while. Two angular black eyebrows raised at her obvious fluster, Trent being unsure of what exactly caused this sudden burst of embarrassment. She hadn't acted this way around him in so long...and then he realized, she must have heard the song. _God damn it. _

"Daria," he called, as she was halfway to the staircase. "Please, don't go?" he outstretched a hand in invitation, finding he craved to be near her tonight much more than he'd thought. Funny, how just her presence inspired the intense need he felt, so deep in his chest.

Daria paused, examining the hand, almost as though he extended a snake towards her in offering. Just when he was positive she was going to flee down the stairs after all, she confessed sadly, "I heard your song."

"I know. Want to talk about it?"

Daria felt as though she'd swallowed a bowl full of fish, and suddenly they decided to rebel in her gut. "I..."

_Don't' be such a chicken, Morgandorffer. You have to tell him about what you did sometime anyway, why not just get it over with tonight?_

Swallowing hard, Daria nodded, stepping towards Trent. "I'm sorry," she whispered, taking his hand. Feeling the warmth of his long fingers wrap around her own, she felt a fraction calmer.

"It's ok," he soothed, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "Come in?"

She nodded, and followed Trent into his room, taking a seat on the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, turning eyes down to study the tips of her boots. "So...nice song," she said. And truly, she meant it. It was beautifully played, beautifully written...it stirred a surprising medley of emotion within her, that she didn't exactly know what to make of. Not the least of which, was guilt.

Trent sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, if it hurt you, or scared you, Daria...I just--"

"If it's the truth, then it's not fair to expect you to apologize for it..." Daria looked up from her boots, to meet his gaze. "Is it the truth?"

Trent's heart pounded in his chest, a thrill of fear and excitement running through his wiry limbs. So much potential hung about in this conversation, for salvation or damnation, depending on the direction of the wind. Trent contemplated his next move. Should he share? Pave some new territory? Possibly scare her away forever...well, she was leaving anyway, wasn't she? What did he have to lose? And he would admit to himself, he kind of wanted to jolt her, just a little. Give her a glimpse of what she really meant to him, and how this strange arrangement of theirs hurt him more than he ever really thought it could.

In a gesture that appeared almost painful, Trent dropped to his knees before Daria. She twitched with surprise as he reached for her leg, but allowed him to quietly remove her boots, long fingers working dexterously to unlace them. "Daria..." he sighed, hands smoothing along her bare calves, causing a quiver of desire to shoot through her limbs. Helplessly she watched as his fingers continued northwards, encroaching a few inches beneath the hem of her skirt before retreating once again. "I didn't exactly know what to expect, when this all started. The situation wasn't exactly normal." Trent turned his gaze up to hers, smoldering dark eyes nearly black in the shadows of his room. His hands reached up to cradle her face, the tips of his fingers sliding into her hair. "And _we're _not exactly normal."

Trent leaned in to brush lips against Daria's in a gentle kiss, reveling in the soft moist hollow that was her mouth. Though she felt unsure of where exactly he was going with this, still, she melted under his practiced touch, his gentle lethargy that seemed so characteristic only of him. She loved the way he touched her, the way he brought her passions to a slow simmer, and eventually a roiling boil that would overflow with satisfaction, yet always leave her craving more of him. She couldn't help but wonder, with a painful tightness in her chest, what part of them he thought was a lie?

As Trent deepened the kiss, Daria found herself urged backwards. Squirming beneath him, she pulled herself to the center of the bed on elbows. "At first you let me touch you under the pretense of _education,_" he said, loving the way she sighed as he settled down atop her. She adored the weight of Trent above her, the way his hollows and curves seemed to perfectly synchronize with her own.

He shuddered as her nails drew up along his sides, tracing his ribcage and spine. "But I think that quickly melted into a purer truth." As though to demonstrate, he ducked down, planting an open mouthed kiss at the base of her neck. "I love the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you are..." Pushing aside the green jacket, he traveled down further with delectable kisses, scraping teeth against her collarbone. "And I think you feel the same about me." His ministrations elicited a soft groan from Daria, as good of a verbal affirmative as one could hope for. She hadn't expected the answer to her question to go exactly like this...but she found very little cause for complaint.

"So I hope this isn't out of line," he continued, propping himself up on elbows above her. "But I think you should know, that when I'm inside you, it's not just sex for me. It's not screwing, it's not fucking. I'm making love to you, and I think I always have been."

Daria looked up at Trent, and his eyes, so earnest, so sorrowful, triggered that familiar trembling tightness in her throat. "God, Trent. This has been so unfair to you. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you...I never thought..."

Trent couldn't help but raise his eyebrows with disbelief. "You never thought I could love you?" He noticed the glittering of tears in Daria's eyes, and two fat drops running down either side of her face. "Daria, baby, don't cry." Needless to say, it wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated from her. She was so strong, yet often, so afraid. Of what? Mostly, just of people. It was people who were the most cruel.

Quickly he rolled off of her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. Engulfed in Trent's arms, his warmth, and that subtle spice that defined the scent of his skin, Daria found herself shaking with the effort to suppress sobs that seemed to ambush her out of nowhere. Daria fought with herself, waiting for the fit to subside, waiting until she trusted herself to be able to speak. "I broke up with Tom today," she said quietly.

A moment of silence passed, as Trent digested the new direction of their conversation. He couldn't have been more surprised at that moment, had Daria slapped him across the face. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he fought to hold back his sudden surge of triumph. _Easy there, Lane. This doesn't mean she's yours._

"How come?"

"Because, he's going to Bromwell, and I'm off to Raft. A long distance relationship just doesn't seem like a feasible option...I think it's for the best."

It was a bitter triumph, for these words also told Trent that he himself would not have a chance at retaining ties with Daria. Bromwell was closer to Raft than Lawndale anyways...was that the sound of his heart breaking, just a little? No, it was only the cracking of a knuckle, but he imagined the sound to be quite similar.

_Tell him the rest, Morgandorffer,_ taunted the little voice in her mind. _Have a backbone, he deserves to know. _"Trent, I'm leaving for college in three months--"

"I know." Those two very small words were charged with seemingly impossible amounts of emotion; Daria realized this was a fact he had thought on, most likely quite a lot, as of late.

"Which means," she continued, "I broke up with Tom three months earlier than I had to, because I couldn't pretend any longer that when he touches me, I don't wish it's you."

At hearing this admission, Trent's mouth gaped open with surprise. Did she really just say that? Was it true? Why would she lie? _Oh God. And she's still leaving in three months. _They lay quietly for a long time, Trent's fingers stroking through Daria's fine brown hair. What did this mean? Did she love him too? Or merely like him a lot, knowing she would meet lots of new people, new men who were as intelligent as her, in a matter of months? He sighed inwardly...maybe the thought made him jealous, but still, he wouldn't begrudge her that opportunity. To finally find other people like herself. Isn't that what everyone really wants, in the end?

"So, what now?" he finally asked, voice hushed, even afraid of the answer.

"I have no idea," Daria admitted. "What...what do _you _want?"

Trent trembled, suppressing the bitter laugher that formed deep in his throat. It seemed obvious, that he wanted _her_, but he understood the unspoken connotations of the question. What did he want, _within reason_? Leaning over Daria, his thumb brushed against her plump bottom lip. "I know you have to go, Daria," he admitted. "So maybe we could just enjoy the time we have? It's about all one can ever do, anyway, whether we're aware of it or not."

Daria looked up to Trent, studying his angular features, his dark eyes and raven waving hair. She nodded in agreement, that tragic smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Three months is a long time, right?"

Trent smiled in reply, ducking down to steal a kiss. _It can be_, he thought, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be enough. With Daria, it just may never be enough.


End file.
